The Minutes of Our Last Meeting – Bullet Bouquets
“Their Bullets Did More Damage To My Heart Than They Did To Your Pancreas.”
Bad Day
I wrote this under distress.
The day began to my wife waking me up in my hotel room before sunrise. I thought someone had died. They had.
By morning, he had decided he needed somewhere nobody cared about theater, someplace where the name Chekhov was more likely to be mistaken for a rifle than a playwright.